


Advancing Slowly

by drcalvin



Series: Groundhog-verse [2]
Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, Gift Fic, Outtakes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-01
Updated: 2013-05-01
Packaged: 2017-12-10 03:35:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/781303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drcalvin/pseuds/drcalvin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Officer Dubois & Inspector Javert deal with paperwork, gambling and a lack of funds.</p><p>A moment set in the same universe as Toil Until the Old Colours Fade.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Advancing Slowly

**Author's Note:**

  * For [voksen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/voksen/gifts).



> A gift to voksen, for amazing beta and endless support with Toil.
> 
> And a great many thanks to Icarus, who helped me beta this ficlet!

Javert's pen was scratching along at a steady pace, only pausing when he verified the names before writing them into the ledger. An entry for each man; his hours logged, any complaints he had received and all witnesses he had spoken to; each written in his cramped hand to avoid wasting too many pages for each day. Arguments about geese stealing bread, children being too loud, dogs defecating on porches; mentions of pockets picked and brawling in the pubs... The incidents in Montreuil-sur-Mer were rarely of great excitement. Nevertheless, they had demanded the time of a policeman, and thus demanded to join the archives of the police. Javert wrote with the deepest concentration, the scratch of the pen and the sound of him mouthing the words as he wrote them the only noise in the room.

It was almost five o'clock and he would soon finish yesterday's log, before beginning his rounds. 

Slowly, the door squeaked open; the drawn-out sound was soon followed by hesitant footsteps, shuffling and slow. Javert frowned at being distracted; his officers had quickly learned that on Wednesdays the morning hour was reserved for paperwork. If he was to be disturbed, it had better be for something that warranted entering with considerable haste. 

Three more steps, each softer than the one before. 

Not bothering to lift his eyes from his work, Javert finished writing up the matter of the dispute over a badly parked wagon which had broken out between Father Chayriguès and Deladerrière the wagoner. The fracas had ended with a bloodied nose and two loosened teeth, respectively. He carefully filled in the last dot, put the pen to the side, blew at the ink and blotted the paper. 

Only when this task was completed to his satisfaction, did Javert look up. Before him stood Officer Dubois, one of the youngest men at the station. A local man, quicker to speech than to thought, whose eye for details was unfortunately often undone by his willing ear for gossip; he had not yet developed the fine sense to separate secrets spilled and old grudges aired which was such a useful talent for a police spy. With his amusingly wild mop of hair which no amount of discipline seemed to tame, quick laughter and the (to his colleagues) appealing trait of often drawing Inspector Javert's ire his way when no criminals formed wa ready outlet, Dubois was well-liked by his fellows and mostly ignored by his superiors.

"Yes?" Inspector Javert asked when it became clear that the younger man would not speak up first. His frown only deepened when Dubois fidgeted for a few heartbeats before finding his words.

"Pardon, Monsieur Inspector," he said, "but I – I know we spoke of this, before, like, and I remember what you said. Oh yes, I certainly do. But... I just wondered, perhaps, if we could..." he trailed off beneath the steely glare which Javert had kept levelled his way the entire time he spoke.

"Get to the point, Officer."

"Yessir!" Dubois cleared his throat into his gloved fist. A careful observer might take note of how his fist was trembling ever-so-slightly.

Inspector Javert was a very careful observer.

"It's only that... we received our salary last Sunday, yes?"

"Yes," Javert acknowledged. "At the end of the week, as you always do. Why? Is something wrong with the sum?"

"Not as such, noo," Dubois said and tugged at his jacket. "It's just... there's an awful lot of week left until the next."

"Yes?"

"Ah, uhm, as it happens I'm finding myself in a minor complication of funds and –"

"Dubois." Javert's voice could by no means be called a whip, and there was no annoyance to be detected in it; yet, it made Dubois flinch as if struck and in truth, the sepulchral tones could only have been enlivened by a trace of true, human annoyance. "You do recall what I said to Officer Gance when he asked for an advance on his salary?"

"Yessir, I know we could get ill, and it would only make the time until the next salary all that much longer but I –"

"He was asking for money to fund his daughter's wedding feast," Javert continued. "What is your cause, Officer?" 

A blush crept up Dubois' throat; it met a second flood of red working its way down his freckled skin from beneath his bangs, and he cleared his throat multiple times. 

"There was a celebration on Sunday, you know? My oldest brother's third grandson is born," he said, gaze flickering between the flag on the wall, the dirty window, Inspector Javert's desk, his own boots, Inspector Javert's hat resting on the desk next to his own – in short, everywhere but the cold face of Inspector Javert himself. 

"Share my regards with your brother at this joyous news," Javert replied, tones of joy or regard conspicuously lacking from his voice. "However, if you are asking for an advance to buy a baptismal gift for the boy, the answer remains no."

"Ah, no, no, though that would be very nice – Ahem, I mean, I surely will, Inspector. However, after the celebrations, it just so happened that my brother's framhand – he owns a fair bit of land, see, not the farmhand but my brother, but then there's eight brothers between him and myself and so I had to become a police officer, ehrm, but of course that is in my file, and I know you've read it, Monsieur; forgive me, I don't mean to prattle –"

"Then. Don't."

"Nossir, won't happen again. Ahem, as I was saying, the boy was baptised and we had a glass of wine or two, and we celebrated, and one thing led to another, and –" Dubois, sensing that his listener's short patience was rapidly nearing a violent end, gulped in air with the desperation of a man about to step onto the platform of the guillotine, and blurted out his next words in a tempo and pitch which cannot be done justice in print:  
"I lost my entire salary at cards and I will work double shifts, I can do triple shifts for the same pay, I swear Monsieur, but please please might I have an advance on my salary because I've eaten every crumb I have in my house and there's no firewood and I swear it won't ever happen again Monsieur Inspector!"

Javert gave the sweating young policeman a long, thoughtful look. "You have no money," he said. "And you cannot, one assumes, borrow it from your brothers?"

Dubois winced. "There is the minor matter of... previous... eh, that is to say..."

"Yes, I do believe I understand." Javert considered for a moment, rubbing his chin. "It would be highly unfair of me, to refuse a man who is about to wed his daughter away an advance, and then turn around to accommodate a gambler."

"Yessir."

"There are also strict regulations regarding the payment of salaries; when, and how, and how they are to directly relate to _services rendered_."

"Yessir..."

The church tolled five. Javert glanced up towards the dirty window; soon, the town would awake and despite an entire hour having past, he was not yet done with his paperwork.

He took up his pen again and put his finger to the ledger. Where had he... Ah, there. He removed the piece of paper which he used to mark the spot, then turned his eyes to the next file. Taking up the pen, he dipped it carefully in the ink; a moment later the room was filled with scratching sounds again. 

"Officer Toulout; two hours; theft of – What is it, Dubois?"

"...nothing, Inspector."


End file.
